


The Visit

by Fisticuffs



Series: A Fine Line [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Kid Fic, M/M, Omega!Matt, alpha!Fisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 20:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fisticuffs/pseuds/Fisticuffs
Summary: Fisk requests an audience, and he asks that Matt bring company with him.





	The Visit

**Author's Note:**

> YOU MUST READ THE OTHER TWO PARTS OF THE SERIES FIRST!
> 
> Daredevil released [a teaser for season 3](https://twitter.com/Daredevil/status/1044942216701997056) that focused on Fisk/Matt and their complex polarity. And when they uploaded the video to twitter, it was with a verse from the book of Daniel. I cannot ignore the signs there. So here is the next installation in my series about Fisk, Matt, and their son Daniel.
> 
> Setting my expectations for season 3 at rock bottom. Please let both men live. But if they have lots of deep and poignant conversations in addition to it, well, that would just be okay by me. This season is going to spoil me rotten with DevilKing. I just know it. But before the war comes, I thought I’d do the next installment in this series and give some... fluff? A truce. And because people had asked for Fisk meeting his son. So here you go.
> 
> Rated G for “Goodness there’s a kid in this one. Keep your hands to yourselves, guys.”

 “Hello.”

There was no returned greeting, no word of acknowledgement. Silence. Hesitation. Static. Matt tried again.

“Hello?”

“You’re investigating Howard Sharpe.” He gave no build-up to the fact.

Matt shut his office door. He observed Karen sitting at her desk, tapping the end of her pen against its surface while the middle finger of her other hand scrolled on the computer. Across the room, Foggy was in his office, tossing a baseball in the air while listening to a deposition. Matt closed the blinds, secluding himself from them, quarantining the stigma of his phone call.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “on paper.” He broke no rule. He worked within the loose agreement he and Fisk held. Matt was being a lawyer, not a vigilante. “He’s taking advantage of my client.”

“Sharpe,” Fisk informed, “is not a man who will care which way you are injuring him.” Concern hid behind a pregnant pause. “He will remove his problem.”

“Friend of yours?” Matt scoffed.

“No.”

Then he was competition. Matt sighed and pushed his glasses up so he could rub the bridge of his nose. “I’m handling it,” he said. “I’ve got a solid case.”

“I know he wants you to think that.”

Matt felt folders of evidence slip through his fingers. He cleared his throat and regained some confidence. “It’s enough for this one case.” He began to doubt that. He wondered what Fisk knew that he did not.

“I am prepared,” Fisk told him, “to offer much more credible evidence, the kind which will lock him away— for life.” It sounded tempting, especially since Matt knew he told the truth. Whatever Fisk had was substantial or else he would not offer it, would not even call.

“What’s the price?”

Fisk sighed. It crinkled as static in Matt’s ear. “Why do you always assume there is one?”

“You’re an opportunist,” Matt stated. “No one gets as far as you did doing favors. They all get cashed in eventually.” When Fisk did not answer, Matt had to guess. “What, he disappears and you take over his operation? You know I can’t support that. I can’t be your- your legal attack dog.” He refused to be an accomplice to Fisk’s increased presence in crime. He wanted the man rehabilitated, if anything. “I won’t be.”

“He’s going to have you killed.” Fisk kept his voice level, refusing to betray what emotions that underground knowledge dealt him. Matt’s own heart skipped a beat. His chest constricted tightly around it. He would pit himself against a hitman, but he and Fisk were both concerned over the form his murder would take and how exposed it would leave his abilities if he defended himself. “He doesn’t want you digging around until you find something of value. It is far easier to sweep one... tenacious attorney under the rug.” It sounded so plausible, too plausible. “What Sharpe needs... is something larger to worry about than a civil case. Yes, I will benefit from his removal,” Fisk confirmed, “but so will you, so will... the boy.” He did not lie. Fisk gave the three of them an advantage, their son included. He protected Matt and Daniel.

There was no contest, no doubt over Matt’s choice.

“Send it,” he agreed, “everything you have on him.” Matt could hear the quiet exhale of relief on the other end of the line.

“A courier will bring it to your office before the end of the day.”

“No,” Matt refused, “my place.” He could explain the documents better to Foggy if he showed up with them instead of accepting the packet right in front of him. He could come up with a story.

“No,” Fisk returned, “I want him arrested by this evening.” Before Matt went home.

Matt sat on the corner of his desk. He felt tired when five minutes ago it was business as usual. “You know this puts an even bigger target on my back,” he murmured. “He’ll want revenge.”

“Take him out,” Fisk proposed, “and the fame that comes with it will make you, your death... conspicuous. You will no longer be a nameless attorney from Hell’s Kitchen.” Fisk was certain when he said, “He won’t risk it, a high profile crime.” Men in his line of work did not prosper if people knew who they were— and especially not if a newsworthy crime could be tied back to them.

“You’ve thought this through,” Matt assumed.

“Yes.”

“You’ve set it all up?” He could imagine Fisk delegating every task until they and the evidence came together. Only one step remained.

“All you have to do is your job,” he said, “lawfully.”

“You know,” Matt replied, “a case like this could, uh, make me famous.”

“Yes.” That was the point. “Perhaps it will bring you more business, more income.” Fisk was consistently obsessed with Matt’s finances. “You could... hire a caretaker... instead of bringing him with you to your office.” Matt was not surprised Fisk knew that, despite his never telling the man. “Is he there now?” His tone was as inquisitive as if he could peek around the corner and see for himself.

Matt prolonged his silence and rolled his head along his shoulders before answering, “Neighbor’s. I had court this morning.”

Fisk hummed in acknowledgement. He waited and let the conversation die before bringing up his patient but burning question. “How is he?”

Matt relaxed. He went around the desk and sank into his chair. Their son was a topic he let himself slip into. It was ordinary in their unordinary way, succeeding a discussion of gangsters and warnings of death with paternal inquiries. “He’s good,” Matt told him. “We’re good.” He knew that answer was nowhere near rewarding enough after what Fisk gave him. He tried to be more specific. “Uh, he’s counting... getting the numbers thing down, all the way to five so far. I’m shit at helping him with colors.” It was unfortunate but true. Matt had color flashcards with brail in the corner, but when Daniel pointed at an object and asked him about it, Matt had difficulty. “It’s fun though,” he said, trying to sound and feel less dour. “The kid’s smart. I like teaching him.” Matt was intelligent. Fisk was intelligent. It was no surprise their son was turning out to be as well.

Fisk made a chuckle in his ear, nothing long, only an exhale of amusement, of fatherly pride. “Yes, that’s good to know,” he said, “good to hear.” His son was smart. Daniel would go far in life.

But for now, he was only a child, a simple child with simple pleasures.

“He has this... stuffed animal,” Matt described, “takes the thing with him everywhere he goes.” He paused before expanding on the truth there. “You actually, uh, you sent it to him... for Christmas. I think it’s supposed to be a dog.” That was what it felt like, so that was what Matt and Daniel called it. No one had corrected them yet.

“And he likes it?” Fisk asked, holding his breath in wait of response.

“He loves it,” Matt said, and they neither one ignored the meaning there, that Daniel loved a symbol, a proxy, of his father. It was important. It meant something— to Fisk.

There were further updates on their son, and Matt gave them, telling the man those facts as if he gave report of some delicate mission, as if he continued to demonstrate he was a good man for the job.

Fisk let Matt ramble about Daniel until they were content. Speech ran out of steam.

“And... how are you doing?” To fill the air and prolong their call, Fisk asked after Matt personally, a far more intimate subject.

Matt did not want to complain. He had to keep a confident face for his friends, lest they think the blind man had trouble managing. His problems had nothing to do with his sight, but any show of weakness would be taken as such— unless his audience knew better. “I’m all right,” he said, “but it’s, uh, hard... sometimes.” It was the first time he answered the question honestly, first time in a long time. “Trying to hold a full-time job (a job with overtime) and be a father, it’s... it’s a lot.” Matt was constantly exhausted. He did not admit to Fisk that giving up the Devil was a relief in its own undeniable way. To assume a third identity would make the quality of all three suffer past inadequacy. “He needs a lot of attention right now,” Matt said. “He’s got... a hundred questions— even if they’re all, ‘What’s that?’”

Fisk exhaled a small laugh. “He’s curious.”

“And frustrated by it,” Matt told him. “I think he knows he’s not advanced enough to understand everything. He hates being confused. Gets a temper about it. He wants to do more than he can.” That attribute described both his parents, therefore it was little wonder how Daniel seemed to get a double dose.

“And your other problem?” Fisk questioned. “Are you tempted?” He wanted to know if Matt was at risk of putting on a mask and beating men in the streets.

He did not lie. They did not lie to each other. “Yes,” he confessed. Matt heard the cries, same as he always did. He was tempted to help them, save them. “But you can’t damn a man for feeling tempted,” he reasoned, “only when he gives in.” Though drawn in by several close calls, Matt had yet to surrender to one. Police came slower than the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, but they did come. “You can double-check that with my priest if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Fisk trusted Matt to keep a handle on his temptations, but they each knew what would happen if he gave in.

Matt would visit him again.

“How are you,” he asked against his better judgment, “in there?” It was not asked out of guilt or concern. Matt lengthened their conversation by inquiring about Fisk in turn.

“In here,” the man said, and he chose words carefully, lest he should sound passive aggressive and cause Matt to hang up, “productivity is more difficult.” By that, he meant managing his assets. He did not dwell on the handicap, knowing Matt took pleasure in that aspect. No sympathy would come from him. “In here,” Fisk continued, “there is a... distinct loneliness. There is a want for intelligent conversation.”

“I guess I did have that at least,” Matt conceded, “sometimes.”

“I... enjoyed our talks,” Fisk said, “sometimes.” The outlying instances were too aggressive from hatred or else uncomfortable with thoughts of Matt’s death. They spoke so often once. Matt imagined Fisk said without explicit words that he missed those times.

Matt did not say the words either.

They stayed on the phone.

Ten minutes passed without Matt’s notice. The only thing that brought him out of it was a knock on the front door. “Someone’s here,” he interrupted Fisk to say.

“That would be your case,” the man informed. How he arranged the papers and the courier without ever getting off the phone was its own mystery— unless the explanation was that he always knew Matt would agree. “I’ll leave you to work on it.”

“All right.” On well-mannered reflex, Matt almost thanked him, but he made himself keep that exchange professional. Acknowledging the personal stakes involved would expose them both to associated emotions. Matt did not want to think about those.

“Matthew,” Fisk called before he could drop the line. The hanging sentence implied its intent. He wanted something.

“What is it?” Matt asked. His tone bypassed the curiosity of mere silence and demanded succinct terms from the man. This was Fisk’s payment for his help. This was it. “What do you want?”

“If your offer stands,” he answered, “the offer you... that you made before, I would like to see him.”

The request caught Matt off guard. Fisk was so against a visit before. “Why now?” he asked. “What changed?”

“I want to see him,” Fisk repeated. He pretended it was that transparent but Matt knew better.

“You wanted to see him last time. Why suddenly—” A knock on Matt’s door interrupted him. “Yeah?”

Foggy poked his head in. He held up a folder. “If you got a minute,” he said, “there’s something you’re gonna want to see— figuratively.”

“Yeah,” Matt replied. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Foggy closed the door behind him.

“Why now?” Matt asked Fisk again.

“Perhaps I cannot deny myself any longer,” he said. “It can be as simple as that, Matthew.”

“Bullshit.” It could be simple. That did not mean it was. There was a reason.

Fisk sighed. He did not want to argue. “Will you bring him?”

It was only fair. It was no more than what Matt freely offered four months prior. Fisk was simply taking him up on it. Matt exhaled. Masked motivations did not sit well with him. “As soon as this doesn’t feel like some sort of trap,” he said. They were pathologically suspicious of one another.

“I am not saving your life now only to ensnare it in a way of my own choosing,” Fisk assured him. “We’ll speak about it face-to-face.” There was an ulterior motive, though not necessarily a harmful one. “You can set the appointment up in your chosen way, as before. Leave a paper trail.”

It was unwise to approach Wilson Fisk without knowing all the facts, especially when bringing his son along. There were other facts, however, established rules between them. Fisk would not hurt Daniel. He would not hurt Matt. He upheld that Matt was the better parent for their son, the one meant to raise him. Fisk would not go back on any of it.

“I’ll set it up.” Matt would take Daniel to meet his father for the first time since he was born. “We’ll be there.”

Fisk breathed in and out of the receiver. “Thank you,” he said. “I will... look forward to it.”

“Yeah.” Matt could not say the same. “I have to...”

“Go,” Fisk agreed. “Have him arrested. And...” He cleared his throat. “Be- Be careful when going home, just for a... a little while.”

“I’ll hear them coming,” he swore, though Matt now had a greater concern than attempted murder. Interacting with Fisk, even the pending invitation of a visit, had a certain effect on him.

“Goodbye, Matthew.”

“Goodbye, Wilson.”

Karen and Foggy were gathered around the conference table with a stack of paper spilling from a manila envelope.

“You won’t believe what we just got,” Foggy announced. “Some nameless Good Samaritan just told us every right place to dig with Sharpe. This is stuff we didn’t even know to look for. I mean, we’ve got to authenticate it all, but...” He was overwhelmed by the enormity of their anonymous donation. Matt supposed he would be too if he did not know where it came from or why.

“Is it enough to lock him up by the end of the day?” Matt questioned. Suddenly, he did not feel safe going home.

“It’ll get an arrest warrant,” Foggy confirmed, “as long as we get right on this and the courts aren’t backed up.”

“What are we waiting for then?” Matt pulled out a chair and sat down.

+

It was unsurprising that a seventeen-month-old child became restless in the long taxi ride. Matt had to assure him they were almost there, almost there.

When they arrived at the prison, Daniel was excited to get out and stretch his legs. Matt wanted to turn the taxi around and go home. Meeting with Fisk, being near him, always had a strong effect on Matt— a pull, a charge that could be forgotten without proximity. To put himself within its radius time and time again was detrimental to living a life without him, to even seeing what one might look like.

If Matt wanted such a life so desperately, why did he make offers to return?

If Fisk wanted an uncomplicated life without Matt, why did he accept those offers?

“Come on.” Matt grabbed Daniel’s hand and walked them into the prison, towards his unhealthy fixation.

Matt brought his cane. He brought a bag of necessities for Daniel. He had a few objects in his pocket that required inspection. And yet he was waved through security.

“This way, Mr. Murdock,” said a guard.

It was different than last time. It was the difference between honest, if judging, guards escorting Matt or those in Fisk’s pocket, sharing unto him their bought obedience. Matt and his son were Fisk’s special guests. They should be treated accordingly.

The guard led Matt down a long hall and stopped outside a specific door. “He’s waiting for you.”

Matt nodded. “I’m sure he is.” He considered reporting the guard or having the police scrutinize his finances, but what good would it accomplish? If there were one crooked guard, there were easily a dozen. Manage to take them all out and Fisk would bribe more. Matt never could win against the man, not absolutely.

The guard opened the door for him like a dutiful butler. Matt went in first and Daniel followed behind him, was hidden behind him.

Fisk stood in the center of the room, waiting.

The door closed, and the three of them existed in the same space for the first time since Daniel was born.

“Hey,” Matt said, trying and failing to treat the situation as something akin to ordinary.

“Hello,” Fisk greeted in soft, timid syllables. His fingers fidgeted restlessly at his sides. “Daniel?”

“Here.” Matt turned slightly, showing the toddler eclipsed by his leg.

Daniel looked at Fisk, a man he had not seen since he was one hour old. “Wassat?” he asked.

Matt stooped to his level and rubbed Daniel’s back. “That’s...” It was difficult to say, to confess Fisk’s title. “That’s your, uh... father.” Daniel did not understand that and would not understand it for some time. “Dada.” Matt pointed at himself.

“Dada.” Daniel did not have a wide vocabulary, but that was one of his words.

“And dada.” Matt stood and pointed at Fisk, a man who was Daniel’s father, who was half of the whole which made him, just like Matt. Daniel did not repeat the word for Fisk. Matt did not expect it. Such a small and simple mind could not rationalize sharing that important word, a word meant for Matt, the biggest presence in his life.

When he grew older, Daniel would understand, but for that day, Fisk was a stranger and a massive presence, towering above at almost three times his height. To a child, Fisk was intimidating. Daniel grabbed Matt’s pant leg and hid half behind it. The action was atypical for a boy not ordinarily shy, but Daniel did not have Matt’s advantage, did not first meet the man as a hero. Presented on his own and with little context, Fisk was formidable.

To put the boy at ease, Fisk knelt on the concrete floor before him. “I have... something for you,” he said. Matt wondered what gift the man brought that was not approved by him first, but there was no need to worry. From his pocket, Fisk pulled a small rectangle of plastic and metal. When Matt focused, he saw a more defined shape. Fisk flicked one of the wheels on the toy car to make it spin and impress. “This is yours,” he said.

Daniel looked up at Matt. The clenching hand on his pants leg loosened, wanting to grab something else.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Matt permitted. “It’s yours.”

Little hands took the car, Daniel’s car. “Wassat?”

“Car,” Fisk answered him. “Can you say that? Car.”

The term was ignored in favor of play. Daniel immediately dropped on his knees and began driving on the floor. Fisk smiled and stood back up.

“I’m surprised that’s it,” Matt said. Spinning plastic scraped across concrete and screeched in his ears. He expected much grander gifts.

“I didn’t want to overstimulate him.”

Matt laughed. Fisk took offense. “It’s nothing,” he assured the man. “You just... sounded like a parent.”

“I am a parent,” Fisk reminded him.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed in a more somber tone. “Yeah, you are.”

Fisk looked down when he gestured with a wide arm. “Would you care to sit?”

Matt chose the bed instead of a chair, knowing Daniel’s habit of climbing up to sit beside him. He perched on the edge and listened to Daniel play in the floor. He would wipe his hands and car off when they left.

Fisk hesitated on his feet before following. He hesitated.

He sat next to Matt, taking the closeness he wanted but leaving a foot of space between them on the mattress. Springs and metal squeaked beneath him and quieted. Fisk watched his son play.

“How... dualistic one small thing can be,” he reflected, “quaint, ordinary and yet... captivating, the most- most important concern in this world.” Daniel mattered to him more than anything. Fisk loved him more than anything. To see him there, in person, mere feet away as he played in his innocence, was a true and touching gift. “Thank you,” he said, “Matthew.”

“I can leave,” Matt offered, “if you want time alone.” Fisk would never harm Daniel. He could not flee from a windowless room with one door. There was no fear in leaving them together.

“No,” Fisk declined. “No, he doesn’t... know me well, and... if you left- if you... He might not like that. He might... be afraid.” Fisk could not suffer watching Daniel fear him. He was not strong enough for that. “Stay.”

“Yeah.” Matt nodded his head. He stayed where he was.

They did not speak. Fisk was more preoccupied watching his simple and complicated pleasure.

Eventually, Daniel came to them. He held out the car, offering it to Fisk.

“No,” said the man. “No, thank you. It’s yours. You keep it.”

“Take it,” Matt told him. “It’s a good thing.” Daniel wanted to share with Fisk.

He took the car. “Thank you.”

“Wassat?” Daniel asked, pointing at it.

“Car. Can you say ’car’?”

“Wassat?”

“Car.” Fisk was patient with him. “Say ‘car.’”

“Cah.”

It was close enough to make Fisk beam with pride. “How smart he is.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed, “yeah.” Daniel was smart, like his fathers.

The boy left Fisk and walked around to Matt’s other side. He put his face into the mattress and held on as he climbed over it. If the bed were any farther from the floor, he would not have managed. Daniel grabbed the bag Matt brought and pulled it closer to him.

“No,” Matt argued, “we’re not gonna take everything out.”

Daniel yelled at him, an irritated scream in place of the words he did not have. He used one he knew. “Dog,” he stated. “Dog,” he demanded. “Nn dog.”

“I see it,” Fisk commented, “that slight... temper.”

“It’s there,” Matt said. It was not an especially ferocious temper, but it was there. It was unclear from which parent he got the quality. Matt and Fisk both had a temperamental attitude lurking inside, waiting to be provoked. “Right now,” he dug through the bag, “he wants his... dog.” He pulled out the stuffed animal and gave it to Daniel.

The boy hugged his toy and sat speaking nonsense at it.

“It is a dog, right?”

“It’s a dog,” Fisk confirmed for him. “Light brown body, dark brown ears and- and tail.”

“Okay.” Matt could finally see the thing. When Fisk sent presents to Daniel, Matt never could clarify with Foggy for fear of hearing, “Why’d you buy it if you didn’t know what it was?” Certain origins of certain objects were best kept obscure.

Daniel held the dog under one arm as he crawled off the bed. He walked around Matt’s legs and to Fisk. “Dog,” he showed the man.

“It’s a very nice dog,” Fisk complimented.

Daniel dropped the dog in his lap, giving Fisk two toys. He toddled back and climbed up next to Matt once more.

“Daniel, no,” Matt repeated. “We’re not taking everything out of the bag.” It was one of the boy’s favorite games to take every item from his bag and make a mess. At the moment, Matt assumed Daniel wanted to give it all to Fisk, his new friend, one piece at a time. “No.”

Daniel huffed at him again.

Fisk reached around Matt and grabbed the bag, lifting it over his head. He placed it on the room’s table, out of Daniel’s reach.

Matt was grateful for the intervention but did not thank him. “You’d be the stricter parent,” he said, “is that it?”

“And you would be the... the pushover,” Fisk replied. He did not mean it as an insult. “Those are our natures, are they not?”

He was not wrong. Fisk took authoritative action where Matt attempted cooperative reasoning. Matt did not deny that a joint partnership between them would create balanced parenting, but he did not acknowledge it either. They would not— would never— be parents together.

Daniel reached for Matt’s face with a small clumsy hand that hit him twice and grabbed his nose once before wrapping fingers around red glasses and getting fingerprints all over the lenses. He pulled them off. “He doesn’t like my glasses,” Matt explained with humor and a grin. “Like father, like son I guess.”

“You don’t wear them at home,” Fisk presumed. He did not deny his preference towards the glasses. Matt knew he liked them gone.

“No,” Matt confirmed, “so in public he’s always confused about them.” He took the glasses from Daniel and folded them up in his breast pocket.

“I saw you,” Fisk murmured, “for so long without them.” Two years prior, he captured Matt in his Devil costume, without his glasses, and the gesture of gifting him a pair was never extended. Fisk revered those vacant, unobstructed eyes. Like Daniel, it was the look to which he was most accustomed. For their visit, Matt kept the glasses off, for them both.

He bounced Daniel on his knee and thought to offer, “You want to hold him?”

Fisk had not held their boy, had not touched him, in seventeen months, when he was newly born.

“Ye... Yes,” Fisk replied. “I would like that... very much.” He put his knee onto the mattress and turned to face them with arms open. Matt handed Daniel off, and the boy did not seem to mind at all. Fisk sat him on his lap with a wide palm on his back for support, to keep him from falling. The fingers of his free hand gently touched, withholding that momentous strength of which he was so capable. He brushed chubby little arms and grazed a small foot inside a small shoe. He petted Daniel’s soft brown hair. And all the while, the boy looked past him and at the brick wall. “Daniel.” He turned his ear but not his eyes to Fisk. “Daniel,” he called again with no better result. “He won’t look me in the face,” Fisk said with a frown. He was displeased with the development, though it was nothing personal.

“I can teach him a lot of things,” Matt replied. “Eye contact isn’t one of them.” He grinned like it was a joke. Fisk did not share his humor.

“That’s no excuse,” he criticized. “You know where his face is, his eyes. Look at them when you speak. Teach him confidence.”

From impulse and irritation, Matt almost told the man it was none of his business. He knew where people’s faces were, but he long ago abandoned the obligation to look there when they spoke. It was unnecessary. And if he ever tried, he found it made them uneasy. However, Fisk was not wrong where it concerned their son. “Okay,” he conceded. “Yeah, I’ll... I’ll work on it.”

“Good.”

Fisk was mistaken if he thought Matt did not know. They both had difficulty looking people in the eye, if for different reasons. Fisk overcame the avoidance in times of necessary confidence, but that timid side of him had trouble.

Matt liked his timid side.

“I apologize,” the man said, realizing he spoke rudely. He did not want them to fight. “You are— you’re... You’re doing a good job with him, truly.”

“Do you still think you made the right choice?” Matt was tempted into questioning. He was Daniel’s parent, by the man’s own decision. Fisk was imprisoned. “Would you make it again?” Matt was curious if Fisk felt regret over it, if time faded his resolve.

“I regret it,” he honestly confessed, “sometimes— oftentimes, in fact.” He would not lie to Matt. “But when I see you, when you... send me his pictures, write me letters, I... I could never...” Fisk closed his eyes for a moment. “I could not endure that other path.”

He once admitted to his inability to suffer a world without Matt. He maintained his position.

“I read about your victory,” Fisk said, “over Sharpe. I read about it in the paper.” It was an arraignment assisted and won by his own hand. He let Matt take all credit. “I’m glad,” he said, “relieved that you’re...” Fisk’s fingers twitched between them. He wanted to touch Matt, to confirm life. He did not.

“He’ll probably get life,” Matt informed, in case Fisk had not followed along to the last detail, “once it goes to court.” Howard Sharpe would not be an issue for either of them in any way.

“And business?” he inquired. “Your business?”

“It’s picked up,” Matt told him. “More traffic through the door.”

“Good.” He was content to hear it. “Your skills, your qualifications, you... you deserve a greater number of people recognizing your talents.”

“Are you trying to make me blush?” Matt joked with a smirk. Fisk did not respond. “The office is full,” he said, “but the people are poor. They give what they can. It keeps the lights on.” It was not the report Fisk wanted, but honesty was a two-way street between them. Matt told him the truth.

“You need...” Fisk breathed deep as he thought. “You need at least a few high-paying clients.” He did not mind Matt’s magnanimity and would allow for his bleeding heart, but practicality was still required for those living in the real world.

“And if some walk through the door, I’ll be sure to let you know,” Matt replied. It did not satisfy.

“Accept my offerings.” Fisk would never cease in trying to give Matt money.

“You know I won’t,” Matt said, “and you know why.”

“If it... were clean,” he posed.

“You have lawful enterprises?” Of that, Matt was curious.

“Not every holding is... a front,” Fisk told him, “contributory to...” To his criminal empire. “There are some I acquire for my own... interests.”

“And you can prove they’re clean?” Matt pressed. “Not even money laundering?”

“Yes.” If even one venture of his stood unaffected, Fisk got to answer yes. “Think of it,” he implored, “as child support.” To that, Matt was entitled. He could have pursued it through court at any time, had he wanted to touch Fisk’s accounts and their ill-gotten funds.

“I don’t think I should say yes.” Matt knew Fisk offered only out of consideration for his son, as preservation of Daniel’s way of life. That did not mean an indebted string or two would not find themselves attached, waiting until Fisk needed to pull on them.

“You should,” Fisk disagreed.

It was not a decision to be made lightly, but Matt also knew their office struggled with its bills. They could not help people if they were not open, if they never graduated from small claims court and its meager collections. Matt wanted to help people. “I’ll need time,” he said, “to think on it.” He needed time to talk himself out of it, which he could do once he got away from Fisk and breathed air that did not contain him.

“Of course,” Fisk granted. “Take as much—”

Daniel fidgeted in his lap until Fisk released him to the floor. The boy grabbed his car and resumed play, leaving them alone on the bed.

“I believe our talk has bored him,” Fisk said with the slightest grin.

“Yeah.” He got restless at times, but luckily, Matt had a spacious apartment in which he could run it off.

In the wake of their abandonment and excess of solitude, Fisk spoke at last on what he had been waiting to say. “I have a... request... to ask.” Given his hesitancy, it was significant in weight.

“All right.” Matt would hear him out. No matter his reaction to the request, he could at least listen to it.

“I understand,” Fisk said, “the gravity of what I am about to say.” Already, he anticipated Matt’s refusal. “My mother,” he explained, “is unwell. She...” Fisk’s face twitched as he tried to process emotions he could not confront. “Her health, it is... declining.”

“And you’re in prison.” There was little Matt could do in providing him a temporary pass or early release. That was for a parole board or judge to decide.

“Yes, but that is not what I wanted to speak with you about.” He wanted something more. It was not difficult to guess what that was. “I’ve told her,” he said, “about Daniel. I’ve passed on photographs. She asks about him sometimes— those- those times... when he circles back around through her mind.” After presenting his case, Fisk presented his request. “I would like for her to meet him.”

Matt closed his eyes. It was a perfectly reasonable— and even selfless— imploration. How could he deny a dying woman the chance to meet her grandson? And had he not promised Fisk long ago she would? Had he not conveniently forgotten what he said every day since he said it? Action on his part was owed. Hell, a part of him wanted to meet the omega who gave Fisk such unwavering respect of them. Matt nodded. “Yeah,” he consented. “Yeah, where’s she live?”

In guilt and reluctance, Fisk paused. He did not want to make his next point. “Understand, Matthew,” he said, “my mother is prone to... speak... on subjects she shouldn’t. She cannot help herself. I try to... limit the guests she receives. If Daniel visits her,” and down came the full weight of what Fisk was asking, “you can’t. I would... arrange to have him picked up, chaperoned, and returned to you.”

“You’re asking me,” Matt summarized, “to let you take Daniel.”

“Yes.”

“After you threatened to—” Matt’s voice got too loud and he lowered it to a whisper for the boy’s sake— “kidnap him.”

“Yes.”

“No,” Matt said, his obvious answer. “No. No way in hell.”

It was bold and insane of him to even suggest it. If Matt surrendered his son, there was no guarantee in this world Fisk could sell, no promise he could give, to make Matt certain he would see him again and as quickly as possible. He was asked to act on faith in a villain.

“No.”

“You owe me.” Matt was parent thanks to him. Fisk was in prison for him. There was a debt leaning unevenly in one direction.

Matt growled and stuck his finger in the man’s face. “You didn’t give me life,” he snapped. “You just didn’t take it.”

“And with Sharpe?” Fisk argued. “I suppose that wasn’t... saving your life either, was it?”

“Go to Hell.” Matt would not be held in Fisk’s pocket like guards and police, judges and politicians. He would not have his actions bribed or blackmailed by the man. He got out of the cage. “You don’t own me... Wilson.”

“No.” He did not, and on that point, he would concede. “But there can exist an honor system between us without ownership. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Up until the point you suggest taking my son.”

“Our—!” For one syllable, Fisk raised his voice— and a hand along with it. Outburst and touch, both were withheld from reaching Matt. But whether to grab him or strike him, the hand was not meant for nonviolence.

Fisk turned from him in shame, shame of acknowledgement in how easily a temper came to him and unto one he did not wish to harm— one he wanted to harm.

“Our son,” he finished at last, trying to save face. “My mother’s... grandson.” It meant so much to him, enough to utter, “Please... Matthew.”

Wilson Fisk climbed to where he was by giving and getting favors. He fell into ruin because he did something for free. He let Matt go. That debt was one they strove to ignore, and yet Fisk found a new one by saving Matt’s life a second time. All he wanted was one selfless act in return.

“This is why you wanted to see him now,” Matt said. “You wanted to ask me this.” It was the reason they were invited.

“I wanted to ask you in person,” Fisk confirmed, “and... I wanted to see him.” He was not lying. Matt did not need a heartbeat to prove it. Fisk loved his son. He wanted to see him. The motive of asking for a favor only dictated when.

Matt pitied his situation despite knowing he should not. It was a dangerous thing to do, and yet the man made him want to drop his guard, always.

Matt pitied him.

“I...” He opened his mouth to agree or disagree, and not even he knew how the sentence would end. Matt was blessed with a distraction.

Daniel got up from the floor and stood there a moment.

Matt cleared his throat and gave Daniel his attention over Fisk. “Diaper?” he asked before the boy could begin whining or complaining about it. Daniel walked to him with his arms outstretched. Matt picked him up.

“You know as soon as he does,” Fisk assumed.

“Yeah,” Matt nodded. “Nose for that. Hearing for a growling stomach. The only thing I can’t detect is sleep, but that’s usually process of elimination.” He gave a half-smile. “Sometimes though,” he said, sounding tired, “he just likes to cry.”

“Let me,” Fisk volunteered. He reached for the fresh diaper Matt pulled from their bag.

“I got it.”

“Let me,” he repeated. “I want to.” Diapers were a unanimously agreed upon downside to parenting, but if Fisk wanted to experience it for once, Matt would not turn him down.

“Just number one,” he said when he handed Daniel over.

The two men moved apart on the bed and Fisk laid the boy down between them. Daniel did not mind him doing it, and Fisk did not need instruction over such a simple task. It did, however, inspire him to speak on a subject brought with easy relevancy.

“Have you had him tested?” Fisk inquired. “Bloodwork to determine... Have you?” He threw the soiled diaper in the trash.

“You mean alpha, beta, omega?” Matt inferred.

“Yes.”

“No.” He put careful thought into putting it off. “As long as we know before he hits puberty,” he justified, “instead of being blindsided. Until then... no pressure.”

Plastic and tape crinkled as Fisk wrapped Daniel in a fresh diaper. “You’re not curious?” He obviously was, but Matt had patience.

“Given his parents,” Matt contemplated, “it’ll probably go one way or the other. He’ll take after you or me.”

“Your father was beta,” Fisk said. Matt had decided to stop being surprised when the man knew undisclosed information about him.

“But my mother was omega,” Matt replied, “to hear my... father say it. I took after her.”

“I am merely pointing out... recessive genes.” Fisk stood Daniel on his feet and pulled up his pants.

“You want him to be beta?” Matt assumed. “Why?”

“To rise above it,” Fisk told him. Even alphas had their weaknesses. “Perhaps... Daniel will never have to understand any emotion behind our situation, what happened to us.” He touched the boy, held the boy, as if he could save him from such maddening torment.

“You’re scapegoating biology,” Matt accused. “You are. When you know there’s more to it.” How they felt towards one another had little to do with what they were and everything to do with who they were. “We could both be betas and still...”

“You think it would have developed the same.”

Matt sighed. “Some parts would be different— obviously.” They would not have a child. They would not have suffered the physiological demand to mate again and again and again. “How I feel... you being an alpha...” He shook his head. “The world is full of those.” Biological compatibility helped, but it did not give final verdict. There were many alphas. “But you...” There was one Wilson Fisk.

An affectionate hand reached for Matt, to touch him, stroke him. He turned away from its connection.

“I have to go.” They had stayed long enough in their allotted time.

“Stay,” Fisk told him, “as long as you like.” In his prison, Fisk controlled his own visitation schedule.

“I don’t like.” Being around Fisk confused him. Matt thought himself above his failing every time he was apart from it. But to be in the same room made him weak.

Fisk understood. He understood perfectly, exactly.

He let Matt go without further petition.

Fisk held Daniel and stood with him. The little boy they loved was supported absolutely in his strong arms. Matt rose to his feet.

“My mother?” Fisk questioned. It was important to him. Matt understood that. He understood why.

“Let me think about it,” he asked, knowing the matter was time-sensitive. The ticking clock did nothing to salve his apprehension. “Let me go with him to visit her.”

“I...” Fisk could not let him do that. Whatever his mother might have to say, he was terrified she would say it, especially to Matt, a man who used every legal leverage to imprison him before.

Against his better judgment, Matt promised, “Immunity.” He meant it. “No matter what she says, I won’t...” It was a burdensome promise, perfectly aware that it gave so much. “I won’t use it against you.” But better than that, he swore, “I won’t hold it against you.” Matt would do his best to think no less of the man, should horrid secrets fall. He asked that Fisk trust him, as he had been asked to trust.

“Then,” Fisk requested, “you must give _me_  time instead... to think about this.”

Matt nodded his head, giving Fisk permission to take as long as he needed. “Let me know.”

Until then, they were in a stalemate. Each side wanted Daniel to meet his grandmother, knew it was important for the woman. Their terms would sit at a standstill for the moment.

Fisk passed Daniel to him. Matt received the boy and held him as little legs wrapped over his waist.

Daniel clenched and unclenched his hand in a clumsy wave. “Bye-bye,” he mumbled. “Bye-bye.”

Fisk kissed his forehead. “Bye-bye,” he said. The derivative of goodbye sounded odd when spoken by a grown man, a criminal, an alleged murderer. It sounded just right when said by a father. “You be a good boy. Be good for your father.”

“Bye-bye,” Daniel repeated.

“Bye-bye,” said Fisk.

“He’ll... keep doing that until we leave,” Matt informed.

He lowered Daniel to the floor. Matt could not use both hands holding the baby when he was supposed to be blind, supposed to need at least one hand for guidance.

“Matthew,” Fisk called, getting his full attention.

“Yeah?”

It was forward of him, presumptuous of him. Matt did not care. He kissed back.

They had been waiting for it the entire visit and yet wisely denying it to themselves. At the end, they gave in because, sometimes, even wise men were fools.

Hands touched Matt after waiting to touch Matt. Rough, gentle hands grabbed at his back, drawing him in, bringing him nearer. Fingers tickled his neck and raked through the hair above, messing it. Matt’s own hands were trapped between them and clenched Fisk’s jumpsuit in his fists. They kissed.

Fisk’s lips were soft, the skin around them smooth and shaven. His teeth were hard. His tongue was wet. His mouth tasted like a considerate, anticipatory brushing of spearmint toothpaste.

Absent shame moved desire too far too fast.

“Mmm,” Matt hummed, “not in front of the kid.” He opened the hand between them and pushed against the man’s chest. Fisk kept him close with a firm hand on Matt’s back.

“You are so beautiful,” he flattered. He kissed Matt’s cheek. “I’m... glad... he looks like you.” He put a finger beneath Matt’s chin, coaxing him to turn his face up to his gaze. Eyes devoured Matt. They memorized him, retaining the picture until next they met. “So beautiful.”

Fisk kissed him again— briefly— and rested his cheek on Matt’s hair. He held him, embraced him. It was a pleasure to experience the simple touch of another, the compulsion of humanity neither of them were able to claim in their day-to-day. They took advantage of it, coveted the presence of their partner, a man they could not rid from their life.

They swayed in a loose embrace. Matt did not know who started the movement. It was tender. It was a confession of delusion over reality and which was preferred within the refuge of suspended time.

Fisk touched Matt’s stomach. He rubbed it with a delicate palm, feeling though there had not been anything inside for some time. In truth, it was a habit to which Matt himself fell victim. He would touch and remember. He remembered everything about his pregnancy— all of it.

With softly suggestive fingers, Matt removed Fisk’s hand. The past was the last place their minds needed to linger. The present was preferable, and in the present, Matt kissed Fisk again— because he could, because it was the better option for him. The future, however, was the time Fisk contemplated.

“I will get out of here eventually,” he murmured against Matt’s lips.

Matt kissed him one final time and pulled away. “Is that a warning?” he asked, questioning if Fisk prepared him for a dark day with unpredictable actions.

“It is a fact,” Fisk stated, “and I want for you to- to take it in the way of your choosing.” It did not have to be completely negative.

“If you come out rehabilitated,” Matt said, “I’m all for it.” Fisk would not be fully changed. His kidnapping offense might never be repeated, but the unprosecuted crimes of racketeering and violence would persist. “You and I,” Matt stated, “will be what we’ve been... not what we want to be.” They would never be together. They would never be a family.

Fisk put long, thick fingers into Matt’s hair and stroked him gently, petted him, caressed him. It was an alluring, captivating touch, one Matt wanted to permit, one he yearned to let linger. Fisk whispered to him, seductive words in a seductive tone, tempting a man who wanted to be tempted. “Sentiments can... change.”

They could. They had. How they felt for one another had traveled through a wide spectrum of emotions. Further time, years of it, would lead them somewhere even more different than where they were now. Neither of them could predict what life after Fisk’s release would look like.

“Wilson,” Matt begged, a plea without specificity. He wanted a simple life, a simple life that his relationship with Fisk would always deny to him. He wanted that, needed it. They needed to walk away from one another. Prison bars helped in a way ordinary willpower could not.

What would happen when the bars opened and Fisk walked free, when there was no barrier between them but a feeble self-control?

Matt feared the day Fisk anticipated.

“Don’t... forget this,” Fisk prompted, and he grabbed Daniel’s stuffed toy from the bed. “Don’t forget Dog.” Daniel held out his hands and took it. “He loves it,” Fisk said, “doesn’t he?”

“Takes it everywhere,” Matt affirmed. It pleased the man to know that, to know Daniel kept a piece of him close— especially as they left him.

“Bye-bye,” Daniel said.

“Bye-bye,” Fisk repeated.

Matt knew it was not the end. He knew perhaps there was no end. He would be back. Daniel would be back. They would see Fisk again.

“Goodbye, Wilson.”

“Goodbye, Matthew.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m weak for these two. I always forget how much so until I begin writing for them again. This has to be one of my favorite ill-fated lovers stories. The desperation towards undeniable compatibility ripped apart by clashing beliefs gets me every time. How they want to be together, but they can’t. I love it. I love this ship. I just get frustrated that, toxic or not, whether Matt likes it or not, he and Fisk are these intertwined, unhealthy soulmates. Of a sort. They are in love. In a way.
> 
> Sidenote, I am going to officially state that Fisk has broken up with Vanessa by now. This AU never reached the point in the series where her life was in danger or Fisk felt they had to flee. But being in prison for an undetermined number of years, he told her to move on. So though he still loves her, for this series, they have parted ways, and Matt is now the closest thing he has to a relationship. The same for Matt with him.
> 
> Admittedly, this installment isn’t as great as the first two. It is simply a necessary episode in the overall series. The next part (last part) I have in mind relates to what happens when Fisk finally gets out of prison. I’m still trying to pick Daniel’s age when that happens, but I’m thinking 7.
> 
> I included the mention of Fisk’s mother because it felt like something that needed to be addressed. Don’t know if I’ll actually write that. Maybe? I dunno. As fun as it sounds to have Wesley chaperone Matt and Daniel to go see her... lol. He hates Matt so much. If I write that visit, it will most likely be uploaded as a second chapter of this fic. But outside of Wesley being incredibly passive aggressive, I’m not entirely sure what that chapter would entail, what the appeal would be.
> 
> I’ll probably be inspired to write more after season 3 is released. There is going to be so much delicious DevilKing. But also I may need to retreat to the relative happiness of this AU. And perhaps, eventually, my AU to this AU, resetting to a beginning where Matt really is blind.
> 
> Season 3 out in a few days, and I think it’s gonna be good!


End file.
